


carve my heart out (it's empty for you)

by errantfox



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, spreading the Mahariel love, with a pinch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 22:59:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7483284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/errantfox/pseuds/errantfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She thinks she will never be clean again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	carve my heart out (it's empty for you)

1.

“Who was that?”  
  
She has gone numb from kneeling in his blood. It's seeped into the grass, her skin, her soul. She thinks she will never be clean again.  
  
“His name was Tamlen.”  
  
Alistair hesitates, a long moment that spirals into the darkness, then reaches to wipe the blood off her cheek. Lyna leans into his touch. She doesn't elaborate further – doesn't tell him that she would surely have married the elf this eldritch abomination used to be, in another life. She doesn't tell him that they used to go on long hunting trips together, that he'd gather flowers for her, doesn't laugh and admit that she loved that he fumbled when he gave them to her and just couldn't spit the words out. Every last bit of her is spent.  
  
So she says, “His name was Tamlen”, and does not continue when her heart sputters in her chest.

  


2.

“Are you insane?” Alistair demands when she extends a formal hand in invitation to the Antivan assassin sitting blood-soaked on the ground. His answering grip is strong.  
  
“We do seem to keep picking up strays,” Morrigan notes loftily. “'Tis your decision, though a poison check at every mealtime would be most prudent.”  
  
“He will be useful,” Lyna insists, and the other elf's eyes glitter, the cocky curve of his mouth wretchedly familiar. Later when Alistair confides to her that having an assassin in camp is doing wonders to his sleep quota, she cannot bring herself to confess that she needs this. Needs another family, however dysfunctional, because she's sick of being alone and she was sure she'd caught a little of herself in that deception of a smile.  
  
She doesn't think she has to. He seems to see this, anyway.

  


3.

“As a former bard, I am glad that not all stories of the Dalish are true,” Leliana beamed. “You are fantastic with human children!”  
  
She says this after Lyna allowed said children of Redcliffe to gather round, touch her armor and prod her about her ears. They regaled her with stories of how heroic they all wanted to be in the future, those heard about the Grey Wardens that must absolutely-be-true, and golly, miss, you're the prettiest lady I've ever seen!  
  
“What do you mean?” Alistair asks, looking miffed. “Kids are kids! They're all snotty adorable miniature people. Bet Qunari kids act the same.”  
  
“They do not,” Sten states.  
  
Lyna shrugs one shoulder. “We Dalish treasure children,” and it's mostly true. She'll never admit that the real reason is because she sees Alistair in each and every one of their shining, dimpled countenances, and for her that is enough to go on with.

  


4.

“Can you imagine? Me, king?” Alistair chuckles. She does not tell him she could.  
  
He would surely make a fine king, with his good heart, the kind that was beloved by his people. For how could he not? He was unsure of himself now, but the blood of conquerors ran in his veins. Given time he'd doubtless prove himself.  
  
And she... would lose him. Would finally understand the pain that led her mother to walk into the moonlight and never return.  
  
Deep inside she cradles the power she holds over him, this enigma of a man, acknowledges need and the phantom sting of wounds as yet undelivered. The potential is there, lurking under her skin, never very far during moments like these. Her heart catches somewhere between her throat and her tongue as she gazes down at him, takes in his easy smile, so trusting.  
  
The combing motion of her fingers slow, and from where his head is lying in her lap, he looks up at her in confusion.  
  
She smooths his hair back from his forehead and murmurs that oh, well, she supposes not.

  


5.

Her relationship with a shemlen does not go unnoticed. She receives a token protest from the elders of her clan, but most are silenced by the realization that they are arguing atop land that she has secured for the Dalish, through sacrifices that are shaping up to be quite the tale indeed.  
  
She notices this, notices with a pang how separate she has become from her clan. “Dalen,” Keeper Marethari entreats, like she is once again a few summers old and having her hair braided in her lap. But there is no way back, not for Lyna.  
  
She tells her that she will stay with her love because he is Alistair. Not just the Grey Warden, not just the royal bastard whose future she has decided. She is his, and he is hers, and for all that the Blight has taken from her she will fight to hold to this much forever.  
  
To him, she says the visit went well, and kisses him hard enough to make him forget any other questions.

  


0.  
(a full truth)

“Before we go,” he says cheerily. “have I told that I love you? Well, it won't kill you to hear it one more time.”  
  
Lying in her tent, wrapped in the arms of a shemlen who has come to mean home to her more than anywhere else in this Blighted land, Lyna can scarcely believe any of it is real. She looks up into his open, smiling face, so full of emotion that makes her own limbs go tender in response. She feels very much like she's taking a plunge off a high cliff when she murmurs, “I love you, too.”  
  
He presses a kiss to her forehead, and she closes her eyes. “See? Was that so hard?” he teases, voice husky and rumbling through them both.  
  
It was, perhaps, the hardest thing she's done since Duncan led her away from her clan, but she's learning that there are worse falls to take. Instead of answering, she shifts in Alistair's embrace and successfully convinces him that the morning can wait a little longer.

  


~

**Author's Note:**

> just when you think everything about elves has been said and done. and don't even get me started on Alistair.  
> I swear, Bioware.


End file.
